


Invidia

by Scattered_Irises



Series: Seven Deadly Sins [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Based off of The Evillious Chronicles, Execution, M/M, Memory Loss, Mentions of Murder, Mild Gore, Murder, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28476357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scattered_Irises/pseuds/Scattered_Irises
Summary: In Long City, a tailor by the name of Mizael lives. He is attempting to piece together the broken shards of his life after a fire robbed him of all he knew and loved. With not even a body to bury, Mizael's husband and son live on only in his mind. Left with only a few pieces of jewelry and the family's heirloom sewing scissors, Mizael holds all of those possessions close to his chest. He would do anything to have them back, even stain his hands with blood and feign insanity.---By the Jin River, a monk who has lost all of his memories in a fire and the young boy that executed the murderous tailor pray for the absolution of the tailor's soul and the return of the monk's memories. Somehow, the face of the executed tailor reminds the monk of someone he had once known and cherished.
Relationships: Durbe/Mizael
Series: Seven Deadly Sins [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2085759
Kudos: 2





	Invidia

**Author's Note:**

> Once again another polished piece from my tronnyboyo blog. The fashions are based off of the Tang Dynasty.

“Aren’t I beautiful?” asked Mizael as he spun around in his newly tailored robes. 

“Lovely, my dear,” replied his husband as he kissed him on the neck. 

Their son happily clapped as his parents began to dance in the center of the room. The old phonograph began to play, a crackly song filled with pipes and strings filling the air. On late nights, Durbe would hum the melody into his ear as they laid together, two souls becoming one. Nothing could compare to the warmth Durbe provided, his hands firm and strong from working with metal and mallet for years on end. In his partner's embrace, Mizael felt as if nothing could hurt him and wished that those moments could last forever. He snuck a glance at the record and softly smiled, remembering their warm winter nights.The record had been played within an inch of its life, its worn surface spinning against the needle. Yet it was still so lovely, just like all of the swords that had come from Durbe's workshop. 

“Would you like to join too?” asked Mizael as he picked up their son. 

Durbe let out a chuckle and patted his son on the back. 

“That's my son. Prance like the pegasus constellation you were born under,” he encouraged warmly. 

Laughter filled the air as all three people danced, Mizael’s long robes shining amidst the candlelight. He had sewn reflective scales on the robes, inspired by the dragons in his families’ stories. The scintillating reflections casted on their walls made it seem as if a rain of gold was in their midst. Curiously, their son grabbed at the shiny projections to no avail. His quick eyes followed the scales around the room, dance soon replaced with a chase. 

_"In search of the golden dragon, Mach flew..,"_ sang Durbe in a soft tenor. 

" _Through streams, through forests through mountains he did go..,"_ continued Mizael in his husky baritone.

" _All for the sake of obtaining the world's knowledge..."_ they finished together. 

Slowly, the memory faded away as Mizael stared in the mirror. Now he was the only one left. His husband and son were mere wisps in his memory, left behind in the flames of the fire. Gone. Ashes. Whispers. Not even a body to be buried. Not even a body to be found. The two people he had loved most in the world were now nothing but dust, joined with the dark soil of the Long plateau.

Why was the man who had taken away his family allowed to live on with his own? The faces of three women filled Mizael's mind and he felt his heart wrench in anger. His hands shook at the memories of their smiles and voices. 

_Today would be the last of those days._

He placed the golden pin in his dark hair, its golden enamel shimmering in the dim light. After he had wiped off all of the blood, the pin was...beautiful, he supposed. Plated with gold, the lotus petals at the end of the pin unfolded delicately, revealing a pearl inside. Delicate jewels hung from the sides, jingling merrily with each step the wearer made. Suited more for a child, but it did not matter. What mattered was the fact that justice would be served. Closing his eyes, Mizael remembered his husband's fingers combing through his hair every night. Durbe untangled the snags of a hard day's work and smoothed out the stray wisps of hair as gently as when he took a newly made blade from the fire. Durbe had loved Mizael's golden hair and the tailor had taken a great pride in his fine locks. Mizael looked at his now pitch-black hair and sighed. He wondered what Durbe would have said, had he seen him now. Surely, unlike the other members of their village, he would have noticed. 

Like the noblewomen of the city, Mizael had gathered his hair into an elaborate bun, rimmed with a crown of pearls. It was one of the few things from his husband that survived. The hair ring on his side was purchased from the same hairpin shop as the lotus', its weight a sign of its value. He made sure that not a single hair was out of place. 

Opening his eyes, he looked down at the outer robe and the contrasting green sash on the inside. He ran his hands down the smooth silk, his fingers sliding down the slippery fabric. After he had removed the stains and repaired the tears, it was a decent piece of work. The outer robe especially, with its wide collar and patterned silk, served to keep the wearer cool during humid summer days. Its wide sleeves offered pockets, yet Mizael did not use them. Instead, he slid his two scissors into his green sash. On his wrists were Durbe's bracelets from a past that he disliked speaking about. The necklaces around Mizael's neck were of his mother's. All of those pieces were intended to be sold in case of an emergency. 

But Mizael could have never brought himself to sacrifice his loved ones. 

With a brush, Mizael painted his lips a bright red and dotted his forehead with a flower. On his cheeks, he drew mirrored stripes and above his eyebrows he drew another set. _If this was the woman Kaito_ _Tenjo_ wanted, then he would have her. Mizael felt his scissors hum with power, the thirst to plunge the blades into Kaito's throat growing by the minute. 

Clutching his hand to his chest, Mizael closed his eyes and offered up a prayer to his ancestors. 

_Please forgive me for what I am about to do._

Carefully, he tucked the scissors deeper into his sash and made his way out of the tailor shop. 

_Scissors are composed of two blades._

_Each blade presses against each other, fulfilling their role by scraping together._

_Just like a harmoniously married couple._

The words of his grandfather filled Mizael's mind as he stepped into the bustling city. The sun shone on his shop’s newly built rooftop, the red tiles almost blinding in the sunlight. He halfheartedly waved to his neighbor and wondered if this would be the last time he would see her smiling face. As he made his way towards the bridge where Kaito stood, he took one last look towards the village. 

His tailor shop. The Tsukumos’ convenience store. The Mizukis’ jewelry store. The Arclight Embassy. The Takeda’s restaurant, where his adopted son was with his friends for the afternoon. The ocean. Yuma’s boat that was his pride and joy. The cemetery, where his husband and son should have slept. _It would be a pity that he wouldn’t be able to be with their ashes._

And then the bridge. Painted a beautiful red, just like blood on freshly fallen snow. Just like the fire that had engulfed his beautiful family. 

Slowly, he made his way towards Kaito Tenjo, the man who had began his descent into despair. _Madness, even._ Dark circles rimmed the man’s eyes and grief filled his expression. Regardless, he forced himself to look up and smile as Mizael approached. The breeze slightly stirred, blowing away the turquoise bangs out of his eyes. He raised his hand in greeting, not a single inkling of recognition in his eyes. 

“Hello there. A lovely afternoon we’re having, aren’t we?”

The scissors sang in response.

* * *

By the shore of Long City, a monk stood by a young boy of about fourteen. Both of their attentions were focused on an impaled head with dark black hair swaying in the wind. The monk had traveled far and wide, yet could not remember his murky past. All he knew after he had escaped from the fire was that he was a man, despite the features he possessed. The monk that had taken him in had meditated and trained him over the years, preparing him for his travels. He had seen dragons, heard of boys being born from peach trees and saw the outlines of distant lands. Yet nothing could compare to Long City. Situated on a plateau, the city offered breathtaking views of the world beneath. He drank in the sights, from the greenery of the fields below to the clear streams that crisscrossed the land. Besides him and the young boy, the Jin River rushed by. 

He dipped his hand into the cold waters and washed his face, old burn scars tingling in response. 

"What did he do to deserve such a fate?" asked the monk to the boy. 

The young boy shifted uncomfortably and brushed away his purple curls. 

"He killed a family of four with scissors, believing the father of the family to be his deceased husband." 

Quietly, the monk took out his prayer beads and clasped them in his hands. He closed his eyes and the boy looked at him in surprise.

"Regardless of his crimes, he deserves absolution," said the silver-haired monk. 

After a few moments of hesitation, the boy followed suit. They murmured their prayers in unison, surrounded by the sounds of the river and wind. The sun shone on their backs, casting its golden rays over their bent forms. Their shadows stretched over the impaled head, the monk's long shadow engulfing the head like a cloud. As they finished, the monk put the beads back around his neck and regarded the face of the murderer. He frowned, pitying the man's beautiful face. 

"No matter how radiant a robe is, it is useless if there is no body to wear it," murmured the monk. 

A pause followed as the young boy looked down at his feet. His lips were pulled into a thin line. 

"No one could separate his head from his body besides me," he murmured. 

The monk turned to the boy in surprise. 

"Why?"

The young boy paused, remembering the cold blade in his clammy hands. 

" _Just once...call me father..."_

Remembering the tailor’s final words made the young man turn away from the head, all too familiar with the sensation of being decapitated.

_"This is the end."_ _  
_   
He wet his lips and quietly answered the man. 

"He was part dragon. And only I possessed the golden blade that was required to kill dragons." 

"I see..," mused the monk. "Shall I pray for you?"

The young man's face broke into an unexpected smile and he looked at the monk's slightly scarred face. From his spectacles to his kindly expression, he appeared fatherly and wise. He could almost imagine the man with a child of his own, laughing and smiling together. His heart ached as he wished that he could have had that kind of parental figure. 

"Don't waste your breath. I've no use for gods," he replied, smirking. 

_Especially since I'll be returning to the Heavenly Yard with one by tomorrow._

Slowly, the monk nodded, his eyes blinking slowly as he looked into the distance. 

"Sometimes though, I do think prayers soothe the soul. Occasionally, it brings me close to remembering my past."

"Oh?"

The monk shook his head and adjusted his spectacles. 

"Sometimes, I feel that if I hadn't forgotten my past, I would have been spared of much suffering," he mused in a quiet voice. "But, the gods' designs are incomprehensible to the mortal soul." 

Briefly, he turned to the weathered head. 

"Something about his face seems almost...familiar to me," murmured the monk. "As if I had known that face in a previous life. But I have never been to Long City before." 

A small smile filled the young boy's face. 

"Perhaps you are right about a past life. After all, we live in a world filled with magic and demons." 

The monk nodded. 

"Perhaps so." 

A pause followed as the two saw a flock of birds fly from the treetops of a forest. Even at their height, they could hear the raucous cries of the birds. The young boy's thoughts turned to the guardian of the forest and his eyes grew distant as memories of his past life filled his mind. 

"I have to go somewhere far, far away tomorrow. But I hope your memory returns to you soon," he said softly, breaking the silence. 

The monk clasped his hands together and nodded. 

"Many thanks to you. And good luck on your journey."

"How about I take you to the Takeda's eatery as my small farewell party? They have various vegetarian options for monks and I'd love to introduce you to my friends," offered the young man. 

Light filled the monk's tired, deep blue eyes. 

"It would be a pleasure," he said with a gentle smile. 

Together, the two walked back towards the hustle and bustle of the city. 


End file.
